French Revenge
by Balloon Animal
Summary: A short story about the lengths that Scout will go to if you ever cross him.


Scout looked at the address scrawled on the crumpled paper for the tenth time. It had taken him months to get this far. It was detective work of the highest order, which was why he owed the BLU Spy an unprecedented favour as soon as he returned to base.

His French was laughable which only compounded his difficulty traversing a country of pompous locals. His map reading abilities were abysmal, therefore reading maps written entirely in French proved harder than the young Boston man had anticipated. It also didn't help that every person in the country inexplicably hated Americans. Fucking frogs!

But revenge was a powerful motivator. He endured the smarmy attitude of a thousand Frenchmen in girly berets to get where he was. He would be glad when this was over and he could go back home. The food was making him sick and he didn't think he could even look at another chocolate filled croissant.

But here he was. He had made it. Now it was time to set part two of his plan into motion.

Scout's palms sweated. He readjusted his backpack and took a long look at the quaint Normandy village he was walking down. It clearly had a very small population, which meant finding this woman shouldn't be too hard. He took slow steps. Maybe, in a way, Scout's resolution was faltering. After all, finding her was the easy part.

Number 4. Numéro à quatre. He squinted the address one more time. He had to be sure. He had travelled too far and endured too much to get this wrong.

His trainers crunched against the cobbled stone ground until they reached a small worn wooden gate. The house could be described as a fairy tale cottage. A small flowerbed flourished out the front. The cottage itself was panelled in the traditional French style, blending seamlessly into the countryside. Blooming apple trees clustered together next to the winding stone path. Smoke was streaming from the chimney that poked out of the thatched roof. He inhaled deeply and was treated to the aroma of baking pastries.

Scout jogged nervously on the spot as he mentally prepared himself for this. He was wearing his finest knickerbockers and he had even gone to the trouble of purchasing some fancy French cologne that the shop attendant had assured him would woo even the most prudent women. He took a moment to lick his palm and slick his hair back before he opened the gate with a creak.

His nerves were getting the better of him. He didn't even know what this woman looked like. Oh please God, let her still have all her teeth!

It only took three knocks on the hand carved wooden door for her to answer. The door cracked open and a short elderly woman peered out. He spectacles magnified her eyes as they squinted up at Scout.

"Bonjour, puis-je vous aider?"

"Uh, hi. Um, I mean bonjour."

Her eyes crinkled in confusion. By the looks of things she had been in the middle of baking. She was wearing a floral apron covered in a fine dusting of flour. It was tied around her plump frame and didn't really do much to flatter her figure.

Scout gritted his teeth and tried again. "Mon nom est Scout." That was something he picked up in his French phrase book. Pronunciation aside, he was pretty damn proud of himself for remembering it.

Another blank stare. "Excusez-moi?"

"Ahh, fuck it. You speak English, lady?"

She tilted her head to the side and gave him a quizzical look, and when he thought all hope was lost she said; "Oui, a little."

He silently thanked Jesus and continued. "Yeah, you don't know me or nothing but I thought maybe I could come in and have a chat."

She was looking at him sceptically again. Scout supposed she wasn't _so_ bad looking. Sure her hair was ivory white and he posture was close to a 90 degree angle. But there was a sort of homely quality that he couldn't deny. Maybe even after a drink or two he could begin to ignore her fine upper lip hair.

Oh hey, that reminded him.

"Uh, here." He pulled out a bottle of red wine from his backpack. French people loved red wine. "I got this for ya."

With gnarled hands she accepted it. This must have pleased her because she looked up at Scout with a sly smile. "Merci. Please come in and 'ave something to eat. You look 'ungry."

Then, to Scout's surprise, she tugged on his sleeve and pulled him inside. He sniffed and recognised that smell. Chocolate croissants.

Scout groaned. The things he did for revenge.

* * *

><p>The RED Spy sat hunched over the package he had recently received. Express post from Normandy. A smouldering cigarette hung from his open mouth, dropping ash onto his tailored suit.<p>

It was an entire shoebox of photographs, all in graphic detail. Each picture featured the BLU Scout in various sexual acts with his very elderly and very naked mother.

A letter accompanied it.

_Hey, Frenchfag_

_For an old bird your mom can really move. Didn't even need a hip replacement! She showed me some of your baby pictures. Real cute. She even let me keep a couple. Remember that the next time you see my Ma. _

_-Scout_

He closed his eyes and let a single tear slip down his face.

"Touché petit lapin, touché…"


End file.
